


The Boy Who Had No Choice

by shadow_preachers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Eventual Drarry, F/M, Future Fic, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, The Golden Trio, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26253730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_preachers/pseuds/shadow_preachers
Summary: It's one year after the second Wizarding War. Draco Malfoy's only two forms of escapism from his troubles are his work and self-harm. Soon enough, he gets paired with Hermione Granger for an assignment at work, and finds a friend. A torch, if you will, through the dark. That torch happens to help Draco back to one Harry Potter, who will be damned before he lets *Malfoy* die on him.(read the beginning notes of EACH chapter for the warnings, please, thank you)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Boy Who Had No Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another story. This has extremely mature themes, because honestly it is my way of venting- which I won't get into right now. Trigger warning for mention of self-harm and language. Make sure to read the tags above, and do not read this if you are triggered easily. Enjoy, loves.

It was yet another cold, dark night. Exactly one year after the dreaded Battle of Hogwarts, or the second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy found himself staring blankly at the scrolls of parchment in front of him. Sure, he was supposed to read the written-on scrolls, and fill out the others, as that was what was needed for his assignment, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Because you know what felt better to do right now? Break down. It's all he could do, every damned day after the War. 

All alone, buried from head to toe- a choice of his own- in a sea of paperwork and cases after cases. His job, one might say, was quite ironic. Draco, a goddamn Malfoy for Merlin's sake, was working with the Ministry to locate the remaining loyal Death Eaters who happened to escape trial. There were sightings, some dark marks, an occasional murder that looked like some kind of sacrifice to Voldemort or something, all the good stuff of course. But none of it, not a single thing, could distract Draco from the fact that he was so incredibly alone. Nobody wanted him around after everything that happened, not even his family- well. Besides one person. His mother wanted him around, so badly, however, Lucius slowly got more and more unbearable. The arguments between him and Draco ended up getting to a physical level when Lucius lost his temper. Draco had still been seventeen at the time, so his only hope was that he could stay long enough to make sure Narcissa would be okay without him around. A month and a half before his eighteenth birthday, however, Lucius kicked him out without much warning.   
And now, he stays in a flat in a Wizard's neighborhood, writing to Narcissa weekly and only living with the voice in his head. 'The blades are in that drawer, they're always there, Draco', the voice would say. He frequently listened to it. Don't get this wrong, Draco is fully aware he's depressed. Maybe even suicidal. But when every other night he was being woken up by vivid, bloody nightmares of his past, who could blame him? Even his neighbors look at him like he's scum. So Draco keeps to himself, keeps his sleeves rolled down, and does his work. He can't even imagine the field day the reporters at the Prophet would have if somehow the word got out that he cuts himself. More specifically where a certain faded tattoo lay on pale skin. The tattoo was mere thin lines now, thanks to the death of that demon, but still obvious what it was. Draco assumed his coworkers at the Ministry believed he was trying to hide the Dark Mark as he kept his sleeves around his wrists, or just simply didn't care whether he lived or died. 

Most days Draco felt like a human-ticking-time-bomb. But it didn't matter. As long as he did his work, and kept everyone happy with him, things would be okay, right? He'd ignore the whispers he would hear on the street as he passes by. He'd ignore the glares and muttering of wandless curses sent his way. Because maybe one day they'd all forget? They would leave him alone, and stop seeing him as Draco Malfoy. He hated himself, his name, his history, his everything, if he was being completely honest. So they can talk all they want. He had his not-so-healthy respite waiting for him in THAT drawer when he got home.

Merlin himself couldn't save Draco now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will be updated less often than Before The Night, my Marauders Era story- as that is definitely more of an ongoing, planned, story, and this is more of when I need to write it, I will!   
> Thank you for reading the prologue. Now go listen to some happy music or something, you sad sap <3


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